by Chris Smith
Chapter Thirteen: Time to Die
The sword was buzzing in his hands. The wooden handle somehow managed to insulate him from the intense heat emanating from the blade. At the other side of the ring Jake’s shadow swung an exact replica of the statue’s sword through the air. Compared to the magnificent glass sword in the hands of his opponent, James’ weapon looked insignificant.
Wielding the blade with the skill of a martial arts expert, the shadow’s blade slashed through the air as though in a well-rehearsed drill. Throughout the performance, it watched James closely. Then, from the depths of the shadow’s being a cry erupted, climaxing as it snapped into its final fighting stance. With both hands holding the handle, it positioned the sword so that it stood poised above its head, ready to strike the first blow. The auditorium fell quiet; no one made a sound as even time held its breath.
James could see his shadow watched coldly from his throne. Intense hatred bubbled inside James. He was more confused than ever as to whom the King actually was. The shadow sat on the throne as though he was king, but this monument paid homage to Pete. His shadow stood up, thrusting his hands up high, to which the crowd responded with a roaring cheer.
‘It is time…’ James’ shadow cried. The crowd went wild in response, but Jake’s shadow held its position and maintained its intense focus. The tip of the black blade quivered, ready to strike. ‘It is time to end this, and find out who will win.’ The terraces cheered. ‘Let it begin.’
The pretend monarch, for James was not yet ready to acknowledge him as the king, sat down. At the other end of the ring, Jakes’ shadow remained primed, which surprised James as he expected the shadow to spring into action and attack. Perhaps the shadow hoped he would strike first, or maybe he was just being cautious. Unsure as to its motives, James held back from making the first move.
In the end, no one could be quite sure who actually did hit out first. They both made their move at what appeared to be the same moment. James wanted to finish it with one hit and so did Jake. Their synchronized swords clashed, causing a brilliant flash of lightning from James’ blade. The blackness of Jake’s weapon absorbed the spark in an instant. The power of the impact threw them both backwards a step. James winched momentarily as bones juddered from the shock.
‘Are you ready, Maggot,’ hissed Jake the Rake’s voice. ‘I’m going to split you in two so that your yellow guts spill out for all to see.’
Infuriated by his jibe, James took the initiative. He hit out again and their blades clashed. But this time he was ready for the backfire, and he managed to keep his balance. James followed up with three rapid strikes, which Jake blocked. With each clash of the blades, sparks flew from his sword only to be absorbed into the black weapon.
The shadow made a lunge for his heart. James collected and pushed the blade away by arching his own blade in a downward semi circle. Jake’s blade whipped through the air as he deflected it, nicking James’ leg along the way. Jake’s shadow smiled, delighted that it had he’d won the honour of drawing the first blood. The shadow saw his chance to press home this advantage and rapidly hit out, first to James’ right and then to his left side. The blade sliced through the air in its well-practiced martial art sequence. The speed of the attack drove James backwards onto the ropes as all hell broke loose from the black sword. The only thing James could do was block the assault and hold out as long as possible. He prayed that the storm would subside and after a few minutes was relieved to sense the attack slowing down at last, pleased that he had sustained only one more nick to his shoulder.
Hit him now, James Impatience urged him to retaliate, but another more powerful inner voice overrode his first instinct, instructing him to hold back a little longer. His blade reached the position of the next block early; James could sense the Shadows next move without needing to think. Jake’s shadow seemed to have run out of ideas of how to break through James’ defences. All the shadow was doing was repeating the same sequence of moves James had witnessed him rehearsing earlier. The pace of the black blade was progressively slowing, and he could see the shadow’s frustration building.
The time arrived for him to retaliate. Jake’s shadow had weakened. So, with the next block, James countered attacked. He swung his sword at his enemy’s head. Jake managed to check the blade in time but before he was able to make his reply, James attempted a swift cut to his shoulders, using both his hands to maximise the impact. Jake stepped backwards. James drove at him furiously, wielding the blade with force and switching his direction of attack randomly. With an excellent aim and strong arm, James moved his weapon purposefully to its target. James’ blade, at last, made its way past the shadow’s defences. The weapon sliced the shadow across the chest. At first, James thought the shadow was bleeding lightly, but then he realised that the blade had cut right through him.
Weakened by the cut, the distressed shadow struggled against James’ continuing onslaught. James hit him, blow after blow, with such force that the shadow began to crumple. He landed a second strike above the knee. The leg was left dangling by only a thread of darkness but incredibly, the shadow managed to keep itself upright. It knew it was beaten, though. James walked up to it with his sword ready to strike the killer blow. Jake’s shadow lowered its weapon, signifying his surrender. The fight was over.
Remembering the werewolf’s torture, James hesitated. After all, the shadow was beaten; there was no need to kill him. James looked across at his shadow on the throne, wondering what was going to happen next. The shadow had the look of a Roman Emperor and James half expected him to raise or turn down his thumb. But he did nothing; he continued to watch without movement. Jake’s treacherous shadow saw James’ moment of weakness. He had the opening, the boy was vulnerable; he could move in for the kill. The dark shadow thrust his sword deep into the boy’s thigh. Responding instinctively, James slammed his sword down onto the shadow’s shoulder, cutting him cleanly in two. Blood poured from his leg, but Jake’s shadow was dead.
The body lay motionless. James looked at it, unable to comprehend what he had done. The dark figure began to change, turning slightly transparent. Something, no, someone’s image was on the other side. He placed his foot under the lower half of the corpse and rolled the shadow over. The image was like a photograph: shoes, legs, belt and shirt all clear as day as if scanned on. James flipped over the top half. Jake’s snake-like face met him, motionless, dead and defeated.
The exhilaration James felt was enormous; he had at last destroyed one of his enemies. That vile mouth would never tell him how useless and pathetic he was; its words would never be able to hurt James again. James was free from Jake’s vicious tongue forever. The dead shadow became more translucent, turning into wispy vapour before forming a whirlwind that blew fiercely for a moment before dispersing into the atmosphere.
‘Yes!’ James cried in joy. The terraces became silent again. The King stood up, and James enjoyed the moment, revelling in the respect his victory had won. James thrust his sword into the air expecting their acclaim or at the very least a cheer, but it didn’t come. How dare they snub me, he thought. James wanted to kill them, all of them. Up on the terrace, one of the Shadows began to stamp. Others joined in, and then more and more picked up the tempo. The sound grew into a crescendo of stamping that reverberated throughout the dome. The monument trembled and the ground moved beneath James’ feet. The King nodded at Mal, who signalled to the other master demons. They jumped into the ring with their spears pointing at James. Hr waited for the crackle of lightning and the searing pain to come, but it didn’t; they made no attempt to attack.
The King held up his hand and the crowd went silent. ‘Send in,’ he smiled, ‘the next challenger.’ A shadow pushed past the demons at the ringside and jumped into the ring. The dark figure started to grow in size. He was huge like an ogre. Gradually, it dawned on James, as the shadow underwent its transformation, that he was in the presence of Gus’s shadow. The intimidating frame bent down, and James now underst
ood what the demons were doing. They were shepherding him, preventing him from picking up the dark glass sword. Their job done the demons clambered out of the ring back into their places and the crowd erupted. The fact that blood was still dripping from the wound in his leg and his body was in tatters from his ordeals was of no consequence to James. He had murder in his heart and the knowledge that he could kill them.
The big figure moved much slower than Jake’s shadow, but his power was far greater. When he hit, James’ arms crumpled under the impact of the sword. Injuries were impairing James’ movement but at this slower speed, he was able to match the pace of his adversary. The nature of battle was different to the conflict with Jake. This time the fight flowed with mighty blows being unleashed as each combatant tried to smash through the other’s defences. They took it in turns, returning blow for blow, each using both hands on the sword to generate crushing strikes. One direct hit and it would be over.
Far fresher than his opponent, Gus’s shadow took the advantage, pressing James back with his huge strikes. James managed to keep trading blow for blow. However, his arms grew heavy and he was driven back until the ropes pressed against his back. He desperately tried to hang on but in the face of the shadow’s relentless force James’ strength faded.
‘Maggot, just give in,’ said Gus’ shadow. James believed Gus had the power of a giant and the ability to crush a skull with his bare hands. His colossal shadow, given the chance, would overwhelm him with this power. The shadow sensed James’ strength deteriorating. With the grace of an athletic hammer thrower, the dark figure wound up for a massive strike. James was exhausted and unable to take the opportunity the long build up presented. When the massive hit landed, James just managed to block it, but its force knocked him senseless. Fumbling hopelessly, he tried to regain his composure and control of his lightning sword. Gus’ shadow used this time to build the power for another massive strike. Swirling the sword in a circle, he unleashed it in one mighty blow. Again, James survived its impact; however, his injured leg gave way. Gus’ foot rose to his chest and kicked him backwards. The sword slipped from his grasp as James fell back onto his seat.
Why didn’t he finish him off? The shadow’s blade hovered in the air, poised to strike. But the hit didn’t come. James was defenceless, his sword laying on the ground a few yards away; cowering behind his arms he waited for the killer blow. Still it didn’t come. This was the second time that he’d been spared, James realised. Jake’s shadow could have hit him with a killer blow, but it didn’t, and now Gus’ shadow stood still, sword in hand, looking at the King and apparently waiting for the declaration of James’ fate.
‘Maybe now he’s ready,’ said the King.
Not just yet, James thought, for Gus’ pause had given him the chance he needed. James fell onto his sword, grabbing it by the blade. Although the edge scorched his fingers, somehow he held on. Then like a leopard, he pounced on the shadow. James moved the blade swiftly through the air and plunged it into the shadow’s heart. He kept pushing until the massive frame reeled backwards, the blade impaled in its chest. The wooden handle hovered before James. He took hold thrusting the sword even deeper, right up to the hilt. He pulled it out in one fluid motion then thrust it in again.
The giant shadow collapsed onto his knees. Surprise flickered in its eyes before it fell down dead. James surveyed the slain shadow sprawled on the mat in front of him. As with Jake’s shadow, it became translucent, revealing the faint image of Gus before it turned into a swirl of grey smoke and vanished into the atmosphere.
The shock of his victory stunned James. Another foe dispatched into the dark. He felt powerful and in control, and yet the victory was somehow hollow. He’d hit the shadow while it was off guard, when it wasn’t expecting it. And at the cost of his hands being scorched and cut from the blade by which he’d taken victory. And the anger: all the Shadows were gesturing their hatred of him; the demons hurling abuse and profanities. Would he have to fight all of them? James wondered. Was the only way to free himself from this place to kill all the darkness? Impossible! In this condition he was bound to lose eventually.
The King rose from his throne. To James’ disappointment, he appeared calm and collected, with a regal air. He’d killed two of his subjects. But as he watched, something in his demeanour changed. Shocked at what he was seeing, James’ shadow suddenly started to grow and change its shape. The dark figure was still maintaining the poise of a king, but his body was becoming more muscular, more athletic. James recognised the emerging figure but didn’t want to believe his own shadow’s metamorphosis into the shadow of Pete.
‘You…you son of a bitch, I’ll kill you!’ screamed James. The shadow looked on passively. James felt a rush of hatred towards it, realising that his freedom lay in destroying the king. ‘God damn you, fight me.’
Forgetting the pain of his burnt and cut hands, James raised his sword ready to attack. Mal rushed forward, but the regal shadow of Pete stopped him by raising his hand. Slowly, the King walked over and climbed into the ring. He opened his palm. Responding to the subtle command, the fallen glass sword flew through the air into his hand.
‘If I must’, he said.
With a rush of adrenaline racing through his veins, James realised that his chance had come. He had only one thought in his head as he rushed forward to attack: kill the King of shadows. The shadow seemed slow to react. James thought he’d caught him off guard; however, at the last second the dark King simply side stepped. Unbalanced by the shadow’s tactic, James lurched past harmlessly. Feeling his incompetence exposed, James’ fury grew. He swirled around, sending the blade hurtling in a wide arch at the shadow’s ribs. Moving with the grace of a dancer, the King withdrew, allowing James’ blade to slice harmlessly through the air in front of him. Unable to control the follow through, James laid himself wide open to a counter attack. The shadow unleashed four blows in quick succession; James only just managed to block his blade, and the speed of it sent him reeling progressively backwards. The dark King was smiling and seemed completely confident of his mastery of the dual. James felt like a novice, completely out of his depth compared to the skill of the king. The dark figure struck again with unbelievable speed and accuracy. James held on, desperate to survive. Occasionally, the flurry abated. This presented James with the opportunity to retaliate, which he did, as aggressively as he could. Nevertheless, he knew the King was in control, playing with him. The dark shadow of Pete grew visibly stronger as James grew weaker.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had first learned of The King of Shadows, but it was actually only earlier today in his bathroom. And now he was at his mercy. In the back of his mind, James heard those words from his grandfather echo once again…
‘The King wants power, your power, the power of your heart, the power of your mind, and the power of your body.’ He has it, James realised, for his heart was full of hate, his mind consumed by the fight, and his body was weakening as the shadow grew strong.
In that moment of realisation, the shadow unleashed his full fury. James was unable to hold him off any longer. The king’s last stroke moved downwards from high above his shoulder. Time paradoxically seemed to slow as James, unable to move quickly enough, gave himself over to the dark king. The glistening blade was heading murderously towards his unprotected neck when, abruptly, it came to rest against his throat. James felt the surface of his skin break and a small trickle of blood ran down his neck.
‘Go on then, kill me; finish it.’ James knew that if he attempted to launch a surprise counter attack the shadow would slice his throat without hesitation. One twitch out of place and it was all over. His only hope was the king’s mercy. ‘Please…don’t do it.’
‘Kill you my dear boy, why ever would I want to do that? I’m trying to save your life’
‘Grandpa?’ It couldn’t be.
Chapter Fourteen: The Feast
